Chapter 3 #2
I itch my cheek with my middle finger, then turn and say, “Hi. I’m Alecia.”
Calder nods once, then rolls me a ball under the net with his shoe. “Serve.”
I bounce it, breathe, and do an underhand serve. At first, it looks nearly perfect, then it lands against the net and rolls back to me in slow motion. “Sorry.”
His brows pinch, but he doesn’t respond, just stands there waiting, not even preparing to hit the ball. Like he’s sure I’ll screw it up again. Meanwhile, I hear, “Excellent, lean into it a bit more, and that will be a perfect shot,” from Frank next door.
I hit the ball. This time nearly sending it over his head.
“Too high,” Calder says, smacking the ball back to me.
I can’t help myself. “Oh, really? Looked great from here.” I snap the ball back with a thwack, and it flies low over the net, taking Calder off guard.
He throws his paddle up, but the ball skids and hits his knuckle.
He curses under his breath, then jogs over to grab the ball now bouncing at the baseline.
Frank leans over the net. “Try to take a little speed off of that, and it should drop right on that line. Excellent work, Alecia.”
I give Sam a self-satisfied smirk, then turn back to Calder. “Sorry about that. Thought you were ready.”
Calder stares at me a moment, then hits the ball deep enough, I have to shuffle back. Oh, he’s pissed. That sends a thrill through me.
After I successfully send three balls in a row into the kitchen—a beginner miracle—Calder starts hitting it harder.
I can’t help but pop it up, and he makes a show of lazily patting it back into the court.
Sweat runs a ticklish path down my spine, and my shoulder’s aching, but I refuse to ask for a break.
Frank finally forces the issue, and I stalk to my water bottle. Calder stops next to me and pulls his from his bag on the opposite side of the fence.
I take a swig. “Do you teach much?”
Calder gives me a look, but before he can answer, Frank does. “Calder’s working to get his coaching certification. He’s been shadowing me, and now he just has to get his own coaching hours in.”
Wow. This was him after shadowing Frank? He was going to need a hell of a lot more coaching hours.
I lower my voice. “Is teaching what you want to do?”
He frowns, dropping his water bottle back in his bag. “Why?”
Umm, because you look like you’d rather lie on a bed of nails than drill with me? I shouldn’t say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.
His mouth opens, then closes, and I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen to the ball he’s gripping in his hand. “Not everyone can be Frank.”
A sliver of guilt lodges itself in the tender spot beneath my ribs.
“That was rude. I’m sorry. It’s probably me who’s the problem.
” It was the likely scenario. I was out of my element, bristling at everything.
Competitiveness was only helpful when you had the skills to back it up.
Otherwise, you turned into a self-aggrandizing jerk. I didn’t want to be that person.
I set my water bottle down and start walking back to my side of the court, but before I know what’s happening, I’m ripped sideways and thrown against something warm and solid.
The split second it takes me to process my change of location seems to stretch into slow motion.
Calder’s left arm is around me, his right arm stretched over my head, catching a pickleball that’s screaming straight toward my face.
“Ball!” A voice echoes through the club, but Calder has already plucked it out of midair.
“You okay?” he asks, dropping his eyes to mine.
I find it difficult to focus. He smells like soft cotton and clean sweat. I’m so close, I can feel his exhale on my forehead. And his eyes. Holy hell, his eyes.
I nod, since words have betrayed me, and Calder slowly releases his arm. I shiver, the hairs rising on my neck. That felt dangerously good. To be held by someone, literally protected from a projectile . . . How had he gotten here that fast? Reacted so quickly?
“Can’t lose that one! It’s a Franklin!” The guy calls.
Calder mutters something under his breath and throws it to him. I march back to the baseline. Doing my best to hide my flushed cheeks.
“Has Calder worn you out yet?” Frank teases as I take my spot.
Well. I’m certainly breathing hard.
“Takes a lot of drilling to make Alecia tap out.” Sam says, stifling a snicker.
I purse my lips.
Calder bounces a ball on his paddle. “Maybe her partners just aren’t drilling hard enough.”
My jaw drops. Did he just—? Is Calder making a joke? Or is he oblivious to the baller innuendo he just dished out?
Sam’s eyes water, she’s trying so hard not to laugh.
Frank chuckles. “Well, we’ve got the right guy for the job then. Calder will keep drilling until you can’t walk!”
He was definitely not aware of what he just said. When Sam excuses herself to get another drink of water, I spin toward the fence, finding as many new muscles to stretch as possible to keep from looking at Sam’s shaking shoulders.